Page 60 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“I need you to trust me,” I tell him. “I’m not looking to Veronica Balentine or anyone like her to be my moral compass. And hell, I’m not even her horse in the race yet. I might not know my way around a lecture hall as well as you do, but this is one arena I’m painstakingly acquainted with, Bram.”
His throat bobs before he nods. “I can trust you. That is something I can do. But I won’t stop or apologize for watching out for you. I want this for you. I want what you want, but it’s important to do this the right way.”
And that’s where he and I disagree. Because when you’re a big, tall white guy like Bram, the kind of guy everyone likes, then you always have the privilege of the right way. But I’m not up for that argument at the moment, especially when we are alone for the first time in almost a week. “None of this matters, because I am the last person on earth that anyone would elect for public office. The polls have made that very clear.”
“No.” His voice is unyielding as he pulls my chin up so that I have nowhere else to look but into his amber-flecked green eyes. “Fuck the polls, Maddie.”
I start to laugh, but his grip on my chin tightens.
“I said, fuck the polls.” He stands and his hand glides from my throat to the back of my neck.
My posture straightens like his hand is pulling on a string attached to my spine and he’s freeing me of the ever-present decision of how to hold myself. With his hand still on my neck, he guides me around the teacher’s desk to the chalkboard.
“It’s time for your next lesson,” he says.
My nipples tighten into hard points, and I push aside the thought that we should get back to the festival and I also push aside the very real worry that someone could walk right into this building as easily as we did.
With the hand that was on my neck, he takes the five-pronged vintage chalk holder and drags it across the board. “You’re going to write me some lines, Madelyn.”
I shake my head. “And what if I think that’s a waste of time when I could be on my knees with your cock on my tongue?”
The weight of him at my back is gone, and before I can look to see where he’s gone, there’s a short swat against the curve of my ass, but it’s not from his hand.
Then Bram is there again, his chest pressing against me, and the feel of his growing hardness nestles into my lower back.
From the corner of my eye, I can see the old wooden pointer stick in his hand.
My lips part, a moan slipping, and I arch back into him. I want him to feel as desperate as I do.
His lips dance across my ear as he asks, “Is this okay? The spanking, I mean.”
“It’s very okay,” I assure him.
His hand is on my neck again and this time he’s guiding me back to the desk. “Bend over, Madelyn.”
Oh fuck, yes.
I’m quick to obey and he kneels behind me, sliding a hand up my thigh. The calluses on his hand press through the thin material of my tights as his touch comes to rest against my inner thigh just inches from where I am so, so starved for him.
He stands then and flips the back of my skirt up, tucking the bottom of it into the waistband before peeling my tights and panties down my hips. Bram moves torturously slow and every inch of revealed skin burns against the chilled air.
“You’re going to be my good girl,” Bram tells me as he yanks my wellies off one by one before pulling my tights the rest of the way down. “You’re going to write your lines on the board, but first I’m going to have to punish you.”
At that, my spine curves, pushing my ass in the air, presenting myself to Bram. I’ve never been spanked—at least not like this. Gentry gave me a swat or two in the heat of the moment, but never like this. Never as an event.
“You’re going to give me five swats, pretty girl, and I need you to count them. We’ll count this next one as your second.” His hands grip my hips, with no attempt to shy away from the curves and folds there. “I need to know that you understand. Now, you tell me, what is going to happen?”
“I’ve been a bad girl,” I say. The words feel filthy and my cheeks are ruddy with shame from how right it feels to be his bad girl—even more so than his good girl right now. “So you’re going to give me four more swats and I’m going to count them out for you.”
His mouth is on the cheek of my ass, teeth biting, leaving a mark, and a moan that borders on a scream dies just as it leaves my lips. “Bram,” I whine, slick arousal pooling between my legs already.
“I know, baby,” he whispers.
The rod comes down against my bare skin. Slightly harder this time, and I yelp as I rise to my toes. “Two,” I say on a gasp.
The wood snaps against my skin again, and I squeeze my legs together in search of relief from the ache building there.
“Three.”
